Your Character's Name: Robert Winston
Usually, I’m all for stopping to scavenge. You never know what you can find. Even if you can’t use something yourself, someone, somewhere might be able to. They in turn may have something you can use. All in all, it’s fairly simple as a survival strategy goes, but it works. So, when you come across a large building, you head for it and hope you can find something valuable, or even just useful.
That falls apart when the place you want to be is already occupied. I’ve survived this long in the wasteland by sticking to two basic rules. One; scavenge when you can. Two; stay the hell away from fortified buildings. The second one is more important for basic survival, since you won’t know who lives there. Could be farmers and traders that banded together to better survive, or it could be a band of Horsemen laying a trap for hapless wanderers.
I’ve seen that far too often, survived more than a few Horsemen attacks, to expect anything else. When you watch your home burn while a murderous zealot tells you to repent or die it makes an indelible impression on a child.
That’s why I recommended that we should stay away from the factory off the Ninety-Four. Cigarette butts and noise. Loud thumping and grinding. Pounding that you felt more than heard. Even from this distance, we had to shout to hear one another. It didn’t take much convincing to get everyone to move on.
Past there and through an underpass, we came to an abandoned play ground. I felt… sad. There should have been children playing there. This place should inspire happiness. I saw it on everyone else’s face, too. Even Bordeaux, for a wonder.
As we walked farther in, we stopped short as we saw movement on one of the benches. It was a decrepit old African American woman, just sitting there. She didn’t seem to notice us, but as we approached, she turned her head to look at us.
Blind eyes covered by milky cataracts stared at us, through us. A slight discharge left trails through the dirt on her cheeks, like canyons carved by ancient rivers. “Welcome to the playground. Aren’t these children adorable?” Her ancient voice cracked and had a slight rattle to it.
“What children?” Ian looked confused. I wasn’t. I’ve seen it in some old timers.
I remember one old man that lived on the outskirts of the old city. He was an important administrator before the Outbreak, well liked. When I knew him, he was just a hermit who never talked, never moved. Then one day he came running into town babbling about how they came back. His family was back. He couldn’t handle it when so many people died. He retreated into the past.
This woman survived the end of the world only to lose her mind.
She waved in Rio’s direction. “Your friend could hear them. You deaf?” A proud smile creased her face. “The one on the slide is my grandchild.”
“I guess she heard me.” Rio grimaced.
“Oh, honey, I could hear you coming from a mile away. Sound doesn’t carry all that far with the freeway right there. Noisy semis running through here. I got good ears, though. Always have, even before the sickness took my sight.”
“How long have you been here?” Rio looked chagrinned.
“Oh, just for the evening. Then me and my boy go back home past the Interstate.”
“Ma’am, there is no one here. Everyone is gone. Have been for years.” I said it gently. I had to try. Living in a delusion can get you killed.
The woman scoffed. “Oh, you kids ain’t the first to come through here spouting and going on about the End of Days. You ain’t the first, and you ain’t gonna be the last. Always something gonna kill the lot of us over the horizon.” She turned and started feeling around the bench. “Now, where’s my purse?”
Bordeaux darted forward and grabbed the woman’s purse. I made a move to stop her, but to my amazement, she handed the old woman her purse. “Here, you go, ma’am. Anything we can do for you?”
The woman’s smile shone. “Thank you child. Not many people, especially the young, will stop and help an old woman these days.” She leaned forward and whispered, “This used to be such a good neighborhood, back when I was young. Now, well, they don’t bother us none, but they don’t help either.” She reached into her patchwork leather purse and pulled out a shiny apple. She put it into Bordeaux’s hands. “Here, child. Take this. I believe good deeds ought to be rewarded, even if no one else does these days.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Anton! Anton, come here, child. It’s time to go home.” She turned to face us. “We should get back. Wonderful to meet such nice young people. Be careful up ahead. There’s a fork in the road. You’ll want to head towards the school. Less trouble and the people there are real nice. Always have a treat for Anton. Isn’t that right, child?” We didn’t say anything, just watched as she made her way towards the Interstate and her home.
We gave the playground a quick once over, just in case. The girls cleared the spinner and took it for a turn or two, taking advantage of the momentary peace. Under the slide, I found a rusty, dented metal box. I broke the lock and found a small box labeled “Happy Days”. I huffed a quiet laugh. Happy days. We should be so lucky. I stowed it and called for everyone to head out. No sense in tempting fate by staying much longer. Besides, the sun was getting low, and needed shelter.
We headed up an old street where an old sign declared it to be “Wisconsin Avenue”. Down one side a large building in good condition. It had a huge cross painted in red on the street side. Down the other, Claire pointed, declaring one building the school house the woman talked about.
“I don’t see anyone moving, but there’s wood smoke coming from the other side of the place.” Rio pointed and I could just make out the smoke against the late afternoon haze.
I nodded and decided we should scout the perimeter before we knock on any doors. Bordeaux and Claire tell me I’m crazy, but I point out that just because they treated a crazy old woman and her imaginary grandson well, does not mean we would get the same. They both looked sour, but went along. We followed a fortified wall of stone that anchored an old and equally fortified chain link fence.
On the other side, a lush and well maintained garden. Fruit, vegetables, and even a few scattered livestock beckoned like Eden. Then, like the hand of God expelling Adam and Eve, the clack of a loaded shotgun brought us back to Earth.
“H-hold it. Hold it right there. Come any closer, and I’ll shoot!”
Usually, I’m all for stopping to scavenge. You never know what you can find. Even if you can’t use something yourself, someone, somewhere might be able to. They in turn may have something you can use. All in all, it’s fairly simple as a survival strategy goes, but it works. So, when you come across a large building, you head for it and hope you can find something valuable, or even just useful.
That falls apart when the place you want to be is already occupied. I’ve survived this long in the wasteland by sticking to two basic rules. One; scavenge when you can. Two; stay the hell away from fortified buildings. The second one is more important for basic survival, since you won’t know who lives there. Could be farmers and traders that banded together to better survive, or it could be a band of Horsemen laying a trap for hapless wanderers.
I’ve seen that far too often, survived more than a few Horsemen attacks, to expect anything else. When you watch your home burn while a murderous zealot tells you to repent or die it makes an indelible impression on a child.
That’s why I recommended that we should stay away from the factory off the Ninety-Four. Cigarette butts and noise. Loud thumping and grinding. Pounding that you felt more than heard. Even from this distance, we had to shout to hear one another. It didn’t take much convincing to get everyone to move on.
Past there and through an underpass, we came to an abandoned play ground. I felt… sad. There should have been children playing there. This place should inspire happiness. I saw it on everyone else’s face, too. Even Bordeaux, for a wonder.
As we walked farther in, we stopped short as we saw movement on one of the benches. It was a decrepit old African American woman, just sitting there. She didn’t seem to notice us, but as we approached, she turned her head to look at us.
Blind eyes covered by milky cataracts stared at us, through us. A slight discharge left trails through the dirt on her cheeks, like canyons carved by ancient rivers. “Welcome to the playground. Aren’t these children adorable?” Her ancient voice cracked and had a slight rattle to it.
“Sure, kids are really cute,” Rio muttered.
“What children?” Ian looked confused. I wasn’t. I’ve seen it in some old timers.
I remember one old man that lived on the outskirts of the old city. He was an important administrator before the Outbreak, well liked. When I knew him, he was just a hermit who never talked, never moved. Then one day he came running into town babbling about how they came back. His family was back. He couldn’t handle it when so many people died. He retreated into the past.
This woman survived the end of the world only to lose her mind.
She waved in Rio’s direction. “Your friend could hear them. You deaf?” A proud smile creased her face. “The one on the slide is my grandchild.”
“I guess she heard me.” Rio grimaced.
“Oh, honey, I could hear you coming from a mile away. Sound doesn’t carry all that far with the freeway right there. Noisy semis running through here. I got good ears, though. Always have, even before the sickness took my sight.”
“How long have you been here?” Rio looked chagrinned.
“Oh, just for the evening. Then me and my boy go back home past the Interstate.”
“Ma’am, there is no one here. Everyone is gone. Have been for years.” I said it gently. I had to try. Living in a delusion can get you killed.
The woman scoffed. “Oh, you kids ain’t the first to come through here spouting and going on about the End of Days. You ain’t the first, and you ain’t gonna be the last. Always something gonna kill the lot of us over the horizon.” She turned and started feeling around the bench. “Now, where’s my purse?”
Bordeaux darted forward and grabbed the woman’s purse. I made a move to stop her, but to my amazement, she handed the old woman her purse. “Here, you go, ma’am. Anything we can do for you?”
The woman’s smile shone. “Thank you child. Not many people, especially the young, will stop and help an old woman these days.” She leaned forward and whispered, “This used to be such a good neighborhood, back when I was young. Now, well, they don’t bother us none, but they don’t help either.” She reached into her patchwork leather purse and pulled out a shiny apple. She put it into Bordeaux’s hands. “Here, child. Take this. I believe good deeds ought to be rewarded, even if no one else does these days.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Anton! Anton, come here, child. It’s time to go home.” She turned to face us. “We should get back. Wonderful to meet such nice young people. Be careful up ahead. There’s a fork in the road. You’ll want to head towards the school. Less trouble and the people there are real nice. Always have a treat for Anton. Isn’t that right, child?” We didn’t say anything, just watched as she made her way towards the Interstate and her home.
We gave the playground a quick once over, just in case. The girls cleared the spinner and took it for a turn or two, taking advantage of the momentary peace. Under the slide, I found a rusty, dented metal box. I broke the lock and found a small box labeled “Happy Days”. I huffed a quiet laugh. Happy days. We should be so lucky. I stowed it and called for everyone to head out. No sense in tempting fate by staying much longer. Besides, the sun was getting low, and needed shelter.
We headed up an old street where an old sign declared it to be “Wisconsin Avenue”. Down one side a large building in good condition. It had a huge cross painted in red on the street side. Down the other, Claire pointed, declaring one building the school house the woman talked about.
“I don’t see anyone moving, but there’s wood smoke coming from the other side of the place.” Rio pointed and I could just make out the smoke against the late afternoon haze.
I nodded and decided we should scout the perimeter before we knock on any doors. Bordeaux and Claire tell me I’m crazy, but I point out that just because they treated a crazy old woman and her imaginary grandson well, does not mean we would get the same. They both looked sour, but went along. We followed a fortified wall of stone that anchored an old and equally fortified chain link fence.
On the other side, a lush and well maintained garden. Fruit, vegetables, and even a few scattered livestock beckoned like Eden. Then, like the hand of God expelling Adam and Eve, the clack of a loaded shotgun brought us back to Earth.
“H-hold it. Hold it right there. Come any closer, and I’ll shoot!”
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